


A Single Step

by Cameo (CameoSF)



Series: A Dark Journey [2]
Category: The New Legends of Monkey (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 08:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20739233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CameoSF/pseuds/Cameo
Summary: Follows A Lasting Impression: the two demons begin their journey.





	A Single Step

**Author's Note:**

> Contains spoilers for Season One

Shaman and his demon had crept out of the palace in the middle of the night without the use of magic, but as soon as they were outside Shaman willed them to the farthest location he knew. The spell he used wouldn’t work unless he was familiar with his destination, and his tendency to stay close to Davari proved unfortunate since the farthest place he knew was only three days walking distance from what had become the gods’ new headquarters.

Before they left their cell, Shaman had conjured a bag to carry the few items they wanted to keep: several days’ supply of food and a few other necessities. Everything else that had been created from magic he converted to gold. He wore the indigo robe and had finally convinced Demon to pack his black clothing and wear grey instead. At over six feet tall the latter wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, but without his cape or leather uniform, at least he wasn’t frightening until one saw him up close.

They started hiking parallel to the road headed south, mostly staying in a rocky ravine that ran between it and the edge of the Barrens. It was slow going, but it kept them out of sight of any towns or travelers they might have encountered.

They walked for three more days before Shaman dared to use his magic again. The gods could track dark magic, and due to the demons’ defeat in the banquet hall battle, there were unlikely to be many using it in that region. He wanted to be well out of range of Lior and his cronies before he put his plan into effect.

At night they sought trees to sleep under, wrapped together for warmth and other comfort. Demon didn’t question anything Shaman chose to do, apparently content just to be with him. He didn’t have much to say until Shaman started pausing every few hours during their trek to work a spell that sent out magical feelers in search of lesser demons.

“We need a god, and I’ve heard a rumor that there is a very old one living near the Barrens,” Shaman explained. “If that’s true, demons inhabiting this area will likely know of him. I’m offering to exchange gold for information.”

“How could a demon contact you?”

“If any pick up on my signal, I will be able to trace the connection till I’m close enough to find them in person.” Shaman spoke confidently, but he wasn’t at all certain this was going to work. His spell was tried and true, but whether any demon would cooperate and whether the old god existed and would help them was all conjecture.

Demon looked doubtful. “We will go into a town?”

“No, _I_ will go into a town.” 

“I’m not letting you go anywhere alone.”

Shaman almost smiled at the idea that the other could control his actions. “You are too well known by reputation and by sight. I can go in without being recognized.”

Demon looked about to argue, but he must have agreed with the former if not the latter. “Send me messages while you’re gone,” he instructed. “If I don’t receive one for more than ten minutes, I will go in and terrorize the people till I locate you.”

Finding that threat unexpectedly touching and a bit thrilling, Shaman stopped what he was doing to indulge in a long, insistent kiss. He decided that making this promise was simply a good idea and not giving in to a demand. Afterwards, he even rewarded Demon for his concern with a sword, the better to terrorize the populace.

##########

For several days Shaman was unable to sense a response to his feelers, but finally a few miles outside a medium-sized town he received a positive reaction, faint but definite. He had no idea what sort of demons might reside there; this one was a lower level than Shaman himself, but that included ninety-nine percent of the demons who freely roamed the countryside. Most reported to higher masters, but since most of those had been vanquished by the gods, this one might be a rogue.

Shaman left Demon sitting under a cypress tree and headed into the settlement alone. Those he passed on the road paid no attention to him, and although it appeared to be a thriving market town, the occupants went about their business, content to disregard strangers who weren’t interested in buying their wares. They completely ignored a slender man with slicked back hair walking purposefully down the street.

“_The place is called Shengto_,” he wrote on the demon’s arm, then after a few minutes of looking around added, “_No threat in sight._”

Sending messages took a fraction of his mental powers; at the same time he was reaching out magically for the source of the earlier response. A trace still lingered, and he was easily able to follow it to a stable where a small group of young men loitered around a barrel playing cards. None of them appeared particularly suitable, but one of them looked up with a frown when Shaman stopped in the doorway. He threw down his hand and stood up.

“_I’ve found him_,” Shaman told Demon while the man spoke to his mates. As soon as Shaman saw the man approach, he left the stable and led the other to a tavern he’d seen across the street. Inside he sat down at an empty table and waited.

The man followed him inside and stopped beside the table, warily scanning the rest of the patrons in the dim room. Up close he looked even rougher and less competent than he had from afar. His clothes were ill-fitting, his shoulders slouched, and he hadn’t shaved in days.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

Shaman signaled to the barman with two fingers. “Sit. Have a drink. Let’s talk.”

When two pints of ale were placed in front of them, the men sat willingly enough. “Who are you?”

“Someone who has need of local knowledge. What do I call you?

“I’m Franco.”

“Have you lived in these parts for long, Franco?”

“Long enough. _What_ are you?”

“I’m a shaman, that’s all you need to know.” Shaman pulled out a small bag of coins and shook it so that they clinked together. “I have heard a rumor of a very old god living somewhere near the Barrens. Do you know of anyone like that?”

“The Barrens go on for two hundred miles or more.”

“That’s why I need someone who knows the history of this area. Does your town have such a person?”

The man’s eyes narrowed as he gulped down his drink. “Yeah, I know a man. Thinks he knows everything about everything.”

“_Not the sharpest knife in the arsenal,_” Shaman told Demon. He slid the coins across the table, followed by his pint; he’d never intended to imbibe. “Ask him about this god and meet me here tomorrow at dusk.”

Franco nodded, grabbing the second tankard as if it was going to be taken back if he didn’t. “What if he wants to know why I’m asking?”

Shaman tilted his head, a habit he realized he’d picked up from his lover. “Is he a demon too? Don’t you have any powers at all?”

The man’s face darkened at this reminder that he shouldn’t be intimidated by a mere human. “I’ll get your information.”

“Good.” Shaman left another few coins for the barman and exited the tavern without looking back. “_I’m leaving the town now_.”

He found Demon where they’d parted, fingering his sword. The look of relief on his face reminded Shaman why he was taking this risk.

“Did you find out about the god?” Demon asked, rising and sheathing his weapon.

Shaman explained his arrangement with Franco. “We’ll have to spend the night here,” he concluded. “Tomorrow I’ll go to the tavern early in case of a trap.”

The other reached out to cup his face. “You don’t trust this man?”

“I don’t trust anyone.” Shaman was still unused to having his demon initiate affection, so he found himself adding, “except you.” That made Demon smile, an expression he was attempting more and more often these days. His silver-blue eyes were soft. Shaman met them and gave in to his own affection. It was only late afternoon, but he was ready to set up camp in the ravine and indulge in some physical intimacy.

They didn’t make love, or their version of it, often, although they were in constant contact every night. Shaman had never needed sexual gratification on a regular basis; he enjoyed reaching climax in Demon’s arms, but he also enjoyed simply holding his lover and knowing that doing so was slowly melting the other’s long unused heart. Demon’s own sexuality, if it even existed, had yet to awaken, but Shaman had always been patient when it came to attaining something worth having.

##########

They spent the night and most of the next day in a small clearing sheltered by boulders at the bottom of the gulley. It was the first time they’d stayed in one place for any length of time since leaving their cell, and it alarmed Shaman that without movement Demon’s consciousness seemed to start fading. Shaman held his hand to make sure he didn’t sink into death-sleep, but that wasn’t enough; to keep his companion fully aware, they had to keep his brain occupied through conversation.

“Tell me your plan for when we find the old god,” Demon requested once they’d exhausted anything of interest Shaman had seen in Shengto. They’d already discussed how odd it felt for the demon to move around the countryside without a master directing him, and how frustrated Shaman felt that his supply of magic paraphernalia back in his room in the palace was now inaccessible to him.

His plan had more unknown variables than he liked, but he didn’t mind sharing it. “I am hoping that the god is old enough to remember the sacred scrolls before they were lost. At one time the gods must have known what each scroll contained; otherwise how did Davari find out which one he needed to gain immortality? We need to know which one contains the secret of changing a demon into a human. Then I can do a locator spell. Once we have the scroll, we will bring it back to the god to be translated.”

Demon must have seen the other holes in this scenario, but he didn’t point them out. “Why would the god help us?”

“Because it will be to his benefit to have such a spell.”

“If he shares it with the rest of the gods, all demons could be wiped out, including yourself.”

Shaman smiled. “I will devise a spell to protect against that.”

The demon studied him for a moment. “There was talk in the palace that the girl-monk and her friends were looking for the scrolls. What if they find it first?”

“The odds are five to one in our favor that they’ll go after a different scroll. If they find the one we need, my locator spell will tell me that it’s in motion, and we’ll have to come up with a new plan.”

“…You’re willing to do all of this for me?”

Shaman squeezed his hand automatically, but said, “I have nothing better to do until another project presents itself.” He smiled at Demon, who clearly saw through him. “At some point I intend to go back to the palace and retrieve the immortality scroll, but that will have to wait till the gods there remove their wards.”

Demon had no reply to that.

##########

Late afternoon that day Shaman strolled into Shengto and went straight to the tavern. He ordered food and drink since he expected to be there a while, but his meal passed without any sign or Franco or other trouble.

“_All seems well_,” he reported when the sun began to set. He was ready to will himself out of there if Franco showed up with company, but it turned out to be unnecessary: the lesser demon entered the tavern alone and came straight to sit at Shaman’s table. He’d cleaned himself up a bit and showed more enthusiasm than he had the previous day.

“I found him,” he announced without bothering with a greeting. “He knew about the god you’re seeking.”

“Do you have a location?”

“He says this god is a woman. Nearly eight hundred years old, the oldest anyone knows of. Lives with her servants in a place many miles to the south. They call her the Ancient One.” As reluctant as he’d been to talk at their earlier meeting, Franco now seemed unable to shut up. “Apparently no one has seen her in centuries, but they know she’s there because her house is warded. Some kind of barrier that won’t let dark magic past it. Demons have tried, but any magic they have stops working once they’re inside.”

“That sounds familiar,” Shaman murmured. “Do you have a location?”

“Her servants are said to be human, so they won’t be a problem,” Franco went on, “but the barrier is strong magic. Word is that charms or potions won’t even go through it, they’re destroyed on the threshold.”

“Franco,” Shaman interrupted. “All I need is the location.”

The man sat back in his chair with a sly smile. “And all I need is some powerful magic.”

“_The cretin is trying to negotiate_.” Shaman’s expression of tolerant interest didn’t change when he spoke aloud, “Such as?”

“A spell to disappear. A spell to create gold. It’s dangerous to be a low-level demon these days.” Franco cast a disgusted look around him. “I need more magic.”

“What are you proposing?”

“I’ll take you to the god and you teach me some of your spells.”

Shaman eyed him with deliberate scorn. “Are you capable of learning? What can you do now?”

“This!” With a wave of his hand Franco tilted Shaman’s full tankard of ale towards him. The drink flew out of the container directly at Shaman, who with not even a blink, sent every drop back into the cup. Franco pressed his lips together in annoyance.

“Not an auspicious beginning,” Shaman remarked, still composed. He glanced at the other patrons, but no one had been paying attention. “Are you _sure_ you want to test me?”

“I’ve figured out who you are. You’re Davari’s Shaman, aren’t you?” Franco took his silence as confirmation. “The gods must be looking for you. I could tell them where you are.”

“And I could send you to a cell in the palace right now.”

“But you wouldn’t know where to find the Ancient One.”

Shaman was finished playing this game. He stood up. “Come with me then, and I’ll teach you all you need to know about magic. If at any time I suspect you of working against me, I will send you so deep into the Barrens you’ll never find your way out. Do we have a deal?”

Franco jumped up. “Yes!”

They exited the tavern and the town, only pausing long enough for Franco to grab some of his belongings from his boarding house.

Shaman sent a message ahead to his demon, but figured it would be best to explain their new situation in person “_Meet me on the road. We’re continuing south_.”

It was hard to decide who looked more dismayed upon seeing the other, Demon or Franco. The former frowned, making his already menacing visage even more ominous under the bright moonlight. Franco halted and his jaw dropped.

“Davari’s Demon!” he breathed. “Is he yours now?”

Shaman made eye contact with his lover, silently urging him to remain calm. “He is my bodyguard.”

Franco strode up to the other demon as if he were on exhibit and looked him over curiously. He was only a couple of inches shorter, but his bad posture made Demon appear to tower over him. After puzzling over the writing on the other’s jawline and the lack of writing on his forehead, he announced, “He has no name.”

“He has no master,” Shaman replied. “He is a free agent who chooses to travel with me.”

“Can you enslave him?”

“As easily as I can enslave you.” His hard tone evidently convinced Franco that Shaman had reached the end of his patience, because the lessor demon literally backed off. Shaman went closer to Demon and touched his arm. “Franco will be escorting us to the god’s dwelling. In exchange, I will teach him some useful magic.”

Demon ignored their new acquaintance to focus his stare on Shaman’s face. “Why?”

“We made a deal,” he said, adding silently, “_He is incompetent, but he knows who I am. I will teach him enough to protect himself and once we’ve found the god, I’ll send him far away.” _

“How long will he be with us?”

Shaman turned to the other man but spoke to Demon. “Franco won’t tell me our destination, so only he knows how much longer we’ll be on the road. Presumably long enough for lessons to be learned.”

“There will be time enough.” Franco hoisted his bag onto his shoulder. “We can make it to the next town and spend the night there.”

“We don’t stay in towns,” Demon told him blandly. “Too many liars and cheats.”

“Says the assassin.”

Shaman started walking, wondering if he’d just made a huge mistake. He’d thought that teaching the lesser demon a few magic skills would be easier than trying to find another informant, but he might have been dead wrong.

They followed the road till the moon was high without passing anyone else on foot, then found their way into the ravine. While Franco sulkily made up his bed on the dusty stone, Shaman and Demon settled together as usual a few yards away. As soon as Franco began to snore, Shaman enclosed his lover and himself in a small, impenetrable sphere.

“I don’t trust him while we sleep,” he admitted when Demon sat up and looked around the space in confusion. “If he wakes and thinks we’ve abandoned him, so be it.”

“You’re sure he knows where the old god is?” Demon laid down again, half covering his lover the way they both liked.

“I believed his story.”

“What spells will you teach him?”

“Not the ones he wants.”

##########

As they traveled, in the ravine by day, on the road by night, Shaman taught Franco a few basic magical skills. The lesser demon was surprisingly inept and consistently greedy.

“Can you create horses for us to ride?” he asked the morning of their first full day of walking. He apparently hadn’t noticed his companions’ disappearance the night before.

“No. I can’t create living things,” Shaman told him. That was a half-lie; he could if he had his old charms and potions.

“Can you create a building for us to sleep in?”

“Yes, but we don’t need one.”

“Can you make a death orb?”

Shaman cast him a scowl and began the first lesson. “You seem to think that the world offers an endless supply of magical energy. It doesn’t. Every time I work a spell, I draw on energy from things around me that can spare it without losing their identity. When done with the magic, it is best to return it so that it’s there when it’s needed again. If I draw more energy than a thing can afford to lose, it will cease to exist. There’s no reason for that.”

Franco seemed startled. “But I’ve heard that you and Davari did spells that broke gods. That had to take massive energy.”

“Davari’s philosophy regarding magic didn’t always agree with mine.” Shaman didn’t add that his failure to protest what he considered their misuse of magic was because it allowed him to expand his own skills.

“Were you there when he was killed?”

Shaman wasn’t about to discuss either death orbs or Davari; to his knowledge he was the only shaman alive who could create the former, and he hoped it was many centuries before anyone stumbled upon the latter.

“To use magic most efficiently,” he said instead, “you need to learn how to draw only what you need. When you spilled the tankard, what did you do?”

Franco moved into step with Shaman, leaving Demon to walk behind them. “I pushed with my mind.”

“Can you do anything else with your mind?”

The man eyed him sideways, uncertain whether he’d been insulted. “No, just move small things.”

“Then let’s start there. Move that stone to the other side of the road.”

They passed several days shifting stones around, larger and larger ones moving greater and greater distances. Shaman frankly didn’t care whether the lesser demon retained anything he was taught, but Franco seemed satisfied with his progress.

When they got hungry Shaman either conjured food for them to eat or, if they were near a town, sent Franco in to buy it. He let the other think he was conserving magical energy, but he really just wanted time alone with his demon.

“He’s a horse’s ass,” the latter stated when Franco was out of earshot.

“I commend your restraint with him,” Shaman replied. They were in the gulley and happened to be near a sturdy tree, so he sat down to lean against it. When he held out his hand, Demon sighed and sank down next to him, knowing what was to come. One of the necessities Shaman had salvaged from their cell was the hairbrush, and they often made good use of it. Now, as he brushed his lover’s long white hair, Shaman pondered aloud. “As dense as Franco appears to be, how does he expect to know when we reach the god’s home? He says he’s never seen it or been this far south. He’s going by what another man told him.”

“Do you think he’s lying?” Demon asked.

“Not about never having been here before, but I think he’s pretending to be stupider than he is. When he works magic, I can feel more power in him than he lets on. I find it hard to believe that he’s lived this long without learning to work more spells.”

“Perhaps the power is there but he doesn’t know how to direct it.”

“_That_ I can believe.” Shaman finished and gently urged the other to lay down with his head in Shaman’s lap. It was a position he’d come to look forward to every evening.

“He asked me your name,” Demon said suddenly. “I told him he didn’t need to know it.”

Shaman approved. “Maybe he _is_ as thick as a brick, but I won’t turn my back on him. He’s single-minded when it comes to his own advancement.”

“I will not let him harm you.”

“I have complete confidence in you.”

When Franco returned with enough food for a few more days, he found them sitting in comfortable silence. Their relationship had been made clear to him, and although he seemed to find the concept of a Shaman and a font demon being lovers rather bizarre, he’d at least had the wits not to challenge it. He joined them in silence while they ate, then they gathered up their belongings and forged onward.

##########

Once Franco had mastered rocks, Shaman had him practice moving other objects, and despite himself, the man seemed to gradually grasp the concept of preserving energy. As the days and the miles passed, he because more efficient until Shaman began to consider teaching him how to move himself from one place to another as well.

By the time they stopped again, towns had become scarce, other travelers few, and the terrain more difficult. The ravine no longer offered an occasional tree, and the road was slowly turning into a rutted trail. Franco was keeping a keen eye on their surroundings, and when they spied a hamlet nearly hidden within a small copse a half mile away, he volunteered to go in and find out where they were.

“We’ll both go,” Shaman suggested at the same time that Demon responded, “We’ll all go.”

Franco looked appalled at the idea. “You can’t set foot in there,” he protested, eyeing the latter in panic. “You’ll send everyone screaming into the woods.”

“I’ll hide my sword,” Demon said shortly, then to Shaman, “We can cut my hair.”

“No, we can’t,” Shaman assured him.

“I won’t be gone long,” Franco promised. “From what the man in Shengto told me, we have to be close to the god’s home. I just need to check some landmarks.”

“Go, but do not use any magic.”

“Hadn’t planned on it.”

Shaman and Demon watched him disappear into the village before facing each other again.

“Cutting your hair is not an option,” the former stated then, meeting the other’s solemn gaze. “Not just because I won’t give it up, but because a font demon’s hair has its own power. With a lock of your hair and a lock of a god’s hair, you could be enslaved again.”

“I don’t want you to be alone with him,” Demon said with equal certitude.

“All right. Your hair remains as it is, and I won’t give Franco a chance to betray me.” It was an easy concession for Shaman to make, especially since the lesser demon hadn’t invited him along in the first place.

When Franco rejoined them, he was in high spirits. He pointed a few miles up the road to where it rose towards a series of low hills.

“The old god’s house is up there,” he began, and lost his words when he found himself on one of the hills an instant later, standing between Shaman and the demon. His pointing finger wavered, then settled on a path to their left. “I thought you couldn’t do that?”

“I can when I know where I’m going.” Shaman hadn’t seen any reason to waste more time, although he’d been tempted to leave Franco on the trail below. “I’m going in alone,” he told both his companions. “No argument.”

“You’re welcome to it,” Franco said. He glanced around and indicated a grassy area to their right. “We’ll wait here.”

Demon ignored him. “Let me know if you need me,” he requested. “I’ll come in no matter how strong the barrier is.”

“If I run into trouble, I’ll call for you,” Shaman promised. He acted on impulse and kissed his lover quickly. As determined as he was to do this, he would be entering unknown territory, and there could be a real risk. If so, he was glad he’d be facing it first rather than his demon.

He walked up the narrow path, able now to see the turret roof of an old building ahead of him. It was farther than he expected, and it crossed Shaman’s mind that this too could be a magical deterrent, but eventually he reached a door set into the hillside. It appeared to be made of the same rough stone as the hills, or perhaps it had been carved out of that stone. Shaman suspected that to a human or a lesser demon, the house would be virtually invisible.

He rapped heavily on the door and was gratified to hear a hollow echo. After a few very long minutes, the door swung slowly inward, revealing an old, but entirely human, face. The woman peered at him but didn’t speak.

“I would like an audience with the Ancient One,” Shaman informed her. To his surprise, she ushered him inside at once.

In front of him was a long, dim corridor, ending in a large, brightly lit room. He could just make out someone sitting in the center of it, facing him. When the servant indicated he should go forward, Shaman did, but he also sent out some feelers for any dangerous magic in the vicinity. It startled him a little that his own magic was still working.

As he got closer, the room seemed to move farther away, but he kept going. The person sitting inside the room went in and out of focus, as did the brilliant colors and patterns of the furnishings. When he could see her properly, the god lived up to her name: her hair was long and grey, her face wrinkled, her body substantial and mostly hidden beneath a lavish but archaic robe. She sat in a well-padded chair that looked nearly as old as she was, and Shaman wasn’t positive where it ended and she began. He was frankly getting a bit dizzy.

Suddenly he was just outside the room and everything had stopped moving. The woman raised her head, and sharp black eyes met his.

“To have an audience with me,” she said clearly, her voice belying her age, “you must abandon all dark magic at the door. Can you do that?”

“Yes. I have no intention of using dark magic in your presence,” Shaman swore.

“That isn’t what I asked. Are you able to leave all your magic outside this room?”

He opened his mouth to repeat his oath, then realized what she meant. The spells inscribed on his body were definitely of dark origin, and it seemed she was aware of them. “What happens to magic that attempts to cross your threshold?”

“It’s neutralized.”

Holding her gaze, Shaman rolled up his left sleeve a few inches to expose a few words of one of his spells. “Including this?” She nodded. “May I speak to you from here?”

“If you wish to speak to me, you must approach me.”

Shaman slowly extended his hand towards the doorway. He could feel the magic in effect when his fingers reached the midway point, but it didn’t hurt. A second later, when the first symbol of his incantation reached the barrier spell, it absolutely did. He nearly cried out as his skin burst into blue flame. He pulled his hand back immediately, but the fire was already extinguished, leaving behind blackened marks where his magic had been.

“Come back when you are free of the darkness,” the Ancient One advised kindly. “I hate to see people in pain, even demons.”

Taking a few minutes to compose himself, Shaman turned and left the house, the corridor now no more than ten yards in length. He let himself out before conjuring a clean cloth to wrap around his burn. A moment later he willed himself to the grassy area at the foot of the path, only to find it empty. Other than some crushed grass at the entrance, there was no sign that anyone had been there.

“_Come to me_,” he instructed his demon. “_Meet me on the path where we parted_.”

Then he sat down to wait, using the time to work a new spell to ease the throbbing in his burned wrist.

##########

He waited over half an hour, while the sun set and the moon rose, but his companions didn’t return. He couldn’t fathom why they would have gone further up the hill, so he eventually followed the path back down to the road. There was no sign of them as far as he could see in either direction.

“_Come to me at the foot of the hill_,” he requested.

After another short wait, he went down into the ravine, but here his view was blocked by the randomly scattered boulders. The gulley floor twisted and turned so that someone could be lying injured twenty feet away and he wouldn’t see them. With that in mind, he walked a mile or so to the north, but there was no evidence that anyone had passed that way, and no reason he could think of why they would. By the time he climbed back up to the road, the moon was high and bright.

He sent out feelers, seeking any demons in the area, without success. This alarmed him since it was impossible that Demon and Franco could have walked outside of his range in the time they’d been missing. Either magic had taken them farther away, or magic was blocking his spell.

“_I will find you_,” he promised, although he wasn’t sure how. He just knew that abandoning his lover wasn’t an option.

Working a complicated spell required no interruptions, so he returned to the ravine to contemplate the possibilities. Demon had been carrying their bag of supplies, so he had no items belonging to the other. The only connection he had was the ability to send the demon a message, and he wasn’t certain that spell wasn’t being blocked as well.

First he attempted to break the magic preventing him from locating his partner, but it was strong, definitely dark and definitely the work of a higher demon. He could tell that it was coming from the north and the east, but since that encompassed all the land along the Barrens, it told him nothing useful other than that it wasn’t a side-effect of the old god’s wards.

He had one idea, but it depended on his words reaching Demon and the latter’s ability to obey. It was going to cause his lover pain, but there was no help for that.

“_Soon you will receive a message meant for Franco_,” he sent, assuming the two were together. No other scenario made sense. “_Do not deliver it. Withhold it as long as you can while I work a spell to follow the connection_.”

Then, having to believe that his instructions were received, he began assembling the magical ingredients he would need to work a locator spell.

When he was ready, he sent one more missive. “_Franco, if you have harmed my demon, it will be the last thing you ever do_.”

It took longer than he’d hoped. Having never experienced the failure of a font demon to deliver a message, he didn’t know how the connection would react. At first there wasn’t anything traceable, but as the minutes passed, he felt a tug. The longer the message was withheld from its intended recipient, the stronger it became. He knew that his words must be cutting deeply into Demon’s arm by now, but the message remained undelivered, and finally Shaman’s spell coalesced into a tangible thread. He could see it leading him up and over the side of the ravine.

From the road, the thread led directly to the small hamlet Franco had visited the day before. Following it mentally, Shaman prepared himself for a probable attack. Then, magical energy ready at his fingertips, he willed himself to appear at the other end of the thread.

##########

It was a small room in a large house, containing a bed and not much else. Demon was leaning against the far wall, clearly in agony due to the writing on his wrist. Franco was in front of him demanding to know what was happening. Neither saw Shaman till he dissolved the connection, ending Demon’s pain. That made the latter look up, and Shaman was startled to see his eyes once again full of his old rage, along with new sorrow.

Franco turned to see what Demon was staring it, and immediately stepped aside to reveal that Demon was once again clad in his black leather uniform. He held a sword in either hand.

“How in the hells did you find me?” Franco demanded.

Without waiting for an answer, he sent Demon orders, and the latter immediately charged Shaman, both weapons raised. In seconds he could have hacked his opponent to shreds, but his body was left completely unprotected. In a blink Shaman conjured and threw a round blade ten inches wide. It sliced vertically through Demon’s chest, dissolving him in a burst of magical dust. Even as that was disbursing, the razer-sharp blade turned and changed angle; now moving horizontally, it cut directly through Franco’s neck before he could even attempt to dodge it. His head and body landed on opposite sides of the room.

Shaman grabbed their bag of supplies, saying a silent prayer to his personal dark deity that it still contained the hairbrush: it did, and enough of Demon’s hair was caught in it to enable the next spell he needed to work. A small bowl already sat on a low table, the ash inside revealing its previous purpose. Shaman placed the hair from the brush in the bowl and set it aflame. If some of his own hair was mixed with it, he didn’t care.

Demon’s form suddenly appeared beside the bed, head lowered, face hidden, but physically fully intact. Shaman went to embrace him even though he knew this wasn’t yet his lover.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, not bothering to specify for what.

He’d intended to say more, but the door was flung open abruptly and the demon who’d used to call herself Princess Locke stood there. She appeared absolutely flummoxed to see the shaman inside and her cohort in pieces on the floor. Her mouth opened, but before she could speak or work a spell, Shaman sent her to a cell in the palace. For good measure, he sent what was left of Franco after her.

The next minute he willed both himself and Demon to the Ancient One’s house, materializing in the corridor outside her sitting room. His surroundings shifted disconcertingly for a few moments then settled. The old god inside the room appeared to be asleep.

Leaving his demon standing obliviously in the hall, Shaman steeled himself for what he was about to do. He’d enacted a protection spell before he left the ravine, but he didn’t really expect it to withstand the barrier’s power. Without pausing to question his own self-preservation instincts, he strode straight over the threshold.

The pain was unbearable. When Shaman’s wits returned, he was on his hands and knees inside the room, his ears ringing from a scream he didn’t remember uttering, his body feeling as if it were still on fire. It wasn’t, so there were no flames he could put out to diminish the sensation of his body being scorched from neck to toe. He had no magic to help himself.

Eventually he realized that the old god was speaking. When he raised his head, she twitched her fingers and the pain became tolerable although it didn’t fade completely.

“I said, now that you’ve woken the entire household, what do you want from me?” she repeated.

Shaman got to his feet, noting without really caring that his clothes were unburned. He tried to steady his breathing as he approached her. “I need the hair of a god.”

“For that one?” she asked, nodding at Demon. She unexpectedly held out a pair of scissors. “Just a little off the back please.”

He took them blankly. “You know why I need it?”

“Child, your spirit is shouting your need to the rafters.” Her small black eyes twinkled. “I’m curious to see what comes of it.”

Although her words made him uncomfortable, Shaman didn’t hesitate any longer: he snipped off a few inches of her grey hair, handed back the scissors and returned to the corridor. Passing through the doorway had no effect on him in this direction.

Outside he was relieved to find that his magic was again active. Immediately he worked the spell that would revive a font demon, and as soon as the Ancient One’s hair caught fire, Demon raised his head. He appeared to recognize Shaman, but was obviously confused as to where they were.

“I’ll explain,” Shaman promised him, dismayed to see that the sadness remained in the other’s eyes, “when we’re in a safe place.”

“Don’t let your pet enter this room,” the Ancient one called. “He would not survive the barrier.”

“And myself? Will I burn every time I enter?”

“No, not unless you inscribe yourself with more dark magic.”

Shaman chose to believe her: he mentally ordered Demon to remain in the hall and went inside again. His skin throbbed as it passed the barrier, but there was no additional pain.

“Thank you,” he said when he and the Ancient One were face to face.

“Thank you for enlivening my day,” she replied. After looking him over, she nodded. “There are other rooms in my house that allow dark magic. This place is as safe as any you’ll find out there.”

“You’re inviting us to stay?” Shaman tried not to sound as bewildered as he felt, but knew he failed.

“For a day and a night. It is nearly dawn, and you both need to rest. Come see me later and we’ll talk about what else you want from me.” She turned to one of her servants who had appeared sleepily in the doorway. “Show them to the turret room. They’ll have privacy there.”

“Thank you,” Shaman said again. “What may I call you?”

“My name is Boabryshiykia.” She twinkled again. “You can call me Bob.”

##########

The turret room was fully furnished, and Shaman had to admit he was glad to see a real bed, especially one large enough for two, as well as a large basin of hot water. First thing he did once he and Demon were alone was to strip to see how much damage had been done to his skin. The mirror he conjured up showed that every incantation had been seared off his body, leaving behind blackened patches and strips. Demon, who’d been silent and subdued till now, grimaced at the sight.

“You did that for me,” he said. He sat on the bed seemingly at loose ends.

“And I would do it again,” Shaman told him. He glanced in the mirror and added honestly, “Perhaps not anytime soon.”

“Thank you for coming for me.”

Shaman carefully sank down beside him. “Did you doubt that I would?”

“I couldn’t think clearly. Franco had made me his servant.” The other’s tone was dull. “And now I’m yours.”

“It was the only way I could restore you.” When he didn’t answer, Shaman frowned. This Demon sounded too much like the creature he’d first encountered in their cell. “Does it take a while after being killed for you to fully awaken?”

“I don’t fully awaken when I’m bound to a master. You control part of me at all times.”

“Can I order you to fully awaken?”

Demon merely shrugged.

Letting that go for now, Shaman returned to the basin and began to use the sponge provided to gently clean his wounds, removing both ash and cinders. The skin underneath was reddened and raw, but it hadn’t bled. After a few minutes, he was pleased to have the sponge taken from his hand and the rest of his body tenderly cared for by his demon. Afterwards he conjured a salve and they spread it on every inch of his sore skin.

Exhausted then, Shaman suggested they go to bed. The spot on his wrist that had been burned the day before had begun to heal already, and he hoped the rest of his wounds would do the same in a few hours. He wouldn’t mind being asleep while that occurred.

The other undressed, revealing a new scar down the center of his chest. Shaman stroked it with one finger, hoping Demon knew how hard it had been for him to inflict it. He was about to speak, then noticed a second new scar: a thin slash across Demon’s throat. His remorse instantly turned to fury.

“What did Franco do to you?” he demanded. “Why did you leave the hill?”

Demon turned away and laid down on the bed like the corpse he should have been many times over. “He took me by surprise,” he admitted.

“He killed you?”

“He followed me into the area where we were going to wait for you. He said something about knowing what to do with my hair, then I felt him tug on it. When I turned, he slit my throat.” There was little expression in the demon’s voice, and he kept his gaze on the ceiling. “He must have taken a lock of my hair, because he was able to bring me back.”

Shaman lay beside him, propped up on one elbow to watch the other. “Where did he learn that kind of magic?”

“He was lying the whole time about his skills. He told me he’d been hiding in Shengto, waiting till it was safe for his mistress, Locke, to resume power and take him with her. After you met with him the first time, he went to her, and they figured out who you were. Locke thought she could use you, so she went ahead by cart to that town near the hills. Franco was supposed to take you there to be captured.”

“But then he discovered I was traveling with Davari’s Demon,” Shaman guessed. The other’s lack of animation was starting to worry him. He placed one hand on Demon’s breast, but got no reaction. “Did Franco say what they meant to do with you?”

“They planned to enslave me. Locke had kept some of the hair of the gods she sold to Davari. When I rematerialized… I was asleep, but I sensed that I was back in the palace, the place I’d last been awoken. Franco brought me to that room when he claimed me…” Demon’s voice faded then strengthened again. “They were going to take me to every town I’d terrorized and allow the humans to pay to execute me. Locke hoped to acquire an army of demons along the way, since they all know I fought on the side of the gods in the last battle.”

Shaman exhaled angrily, wishing he’d drawn out Franco’s death. “Before we leave this area, I’ll retrieve the rest of the gods’ hair and whatever else Locke left behind. It could be useful.”

Demon was quiet. When Shaman lay back and urged the other to rest his head on his shoulder, the demon didn’t move. His face was as hard and unreadable as it’d been when they’d met, and Shaman only hoped that wasn’t an inevitable result of being owned.

He doused the lights and lay for a while, but it didn’t feel right not to be touching his lover. When he clasped Demon’s hand, the other’s was limp.

“You don’t need to stay in contact with me,” Demon said. “I won’t fall into the death-sleep unless you tell me to.”

“Why would I tell you to?”

There was a pause, then, “I meant, I will do whatever you say. I have no choice.”

“Does that bother you?” Instead of a reply, Shaman heard his demon take a shaky breath. That was more emotion than a font demon generally displayed, and Shaman suddenly knew his lover’s behavior wasn’t just because he’d been re-enslaved. “Tell me what else Franco and Locke did to you.”

“…Is that an order?”

“Yes, if that’s the only way you’ll tell me.”

The next pause lasted long enough for Shaman to realize that his demon was fighting his instruction. Finally he spoke softly, without feeling. “Franco wanted to know your name. He thought if he knew it, he would have power over you and therefore over Locke. He commanded me to tell him, and when I didn’t, he tortured me.”

“I’m sorry.” Shaman said honestly: sorry that the other had been harmed for not knowing his lover’s name, but not sorry for having kept it secret.

“Franco thought we were sexual partners,” Demon droned on. “He assumed I was used to being on top, so he made me… He did it to subjugate me. When I didn’t respond the way he wanted, he ordered me to, and my body had to obey. He… didn’t allow me to resist. He hurt me if I tried.”

Shaman heart was aching as badly as his skin had earlier. “If I could bring that animal back to life and kill him over and over, I would.”

“He only quit because Locke was supposed to come at dawn to take me away. I was getting dressed when your last message arrived.” Demon came to a full stop, but this time when Shaman squeezed his fingers, he returned it.

“Davari was many things,” Shaman murmured, “but he wasn’t a rapist. I’m sorry you went through that in addition to so much other pain. If I could take it away, I would.”

That idea brought him up short. Unused to being someone’s master, he hadn’t given enough thought to just how much control he now had over the font demon. He actually could remove that memory from the other’s mind. Being assaulted physically seemed to disturb the man more than anything else done to him in a lifetime of offenses, and there wasn’t anything else Shaman could do about it. He’d never been raped himself, but in his youth he’d been coerced into an unwanted relationship with one of his loathsome teachers, so he knew how it felt to be helpless under another’s hands. He chose to remember, but he could easily take that anguish away from his partner.

Tightening his hold on his lover’s hand, Shaman lay awake for hours contemplating his new power, as well as his new responsibility.

##########

They slept till mid-afternoon. Upon waking, Shaman was pleased to see that his wounds had already begun to heal. In fact, the scars left behind followed the lines of the original inscriptions, so his unique spells weren’t entirely lost. On the other hand, Demon’s readiness to share affection and intimacy might be. The latter rose and dressed without a word.

Shaman had decided what to do as his master, but wanted to wait till the other was in a receptive mood before telling him. If that meant assuring Demon that their mission hadn’t changed, then he would do so. To that end, he went downstairs to talk to the Ancient One.

It was still a little unnerving to walk over the threshold of her sitting room, but the barrier didn’t activate. Shaman went to where the old god was waiting, apparently unmoved since he’d last seen her. He wondered in passing whether she was capable of rising.

A chair materialized nearby as he approached, so he sat.

“You wanted something from me,” she said at once. “Something other than help reviving your pet. What was it?”

“He’s not my pet.”

“Of course he is.”

Shaman wasn’t going to debate it. He explained what he needed and why, watching her face closely as he spoke of the sacred scrolls. Her expression didn’t change when he told her why he needed one in particular. “If you can tell me how to identify the scroll I seek, I won’t try to find any of the others. I’ll locate the one and bring it to you to translate. You may keep it after I’ve worked the spell on my companion.”

“An interesting proposition,” Bob said at last. She glanced at the doorway where Shaman guessed his demon must be hovering. “But I have no need of such a scroll. And what if you change your mind? What if we make this deal and you decide not to use the spell this scroll contains?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Things change. I would add an addendum to our deal: whether or not it is translated, whether or not you work the spell, you will carry the scroll to the Monkey god for safe-keeping.”

“The Monkey--?”

“Take it or leave it.”

Shaman considered her offer from all angles. He didn’t think she was setting a trap for him; she was simply too far removed from the affairs of the other gods to want to get involved. If she helped him to find the scroll, and to translate it, she would be doing him a great favor, and he agreed that the scroll could not be allowed to fall into unknown hands afterwards. Since she knew of the Monkey god’s return, she must have a way of knowing if he broke their bargain. He would have time to figure out how to locate Monkey, and once that was done, the scroll could easily be delivered to him without in-person contact.

“All right,” he said. “We have a deal.”

Bob nodded with a satisfied smile. She closed her eyes for a minute, at the same time drawing a complex symbol in the air with her hand. It hovered there long enough for Shaman to memorize it, then vanished when she looked at him again.

“That is the scroll you want,” she told him. “The third of seven. I don’t know where it is or whether it still exists.”

“If it does, I’ll find it,” Shaman promised. He stood, then hesitated: he didn’t understand her motivation at all, and that bothered him. The other gods he’d dealt with had been relatively transparent. “Why are you willing to help me?”

“Why were you willing to roast yourself alive?”

“…Because my spirit is shouting my need to the rafters?” he guessed.

Bob’s eyes twinkled. She let him get almost to the door before she added loudly enough for Demon to hear, “Go quickly. I told you I don’t like to see creatures in pain, even font demons.”

When Shaman turned to his lover, he saw that her words registered, but Demon didn’t comment. He merely bowed his head for his master to precede him out of the house.

##########

After a quick, magical visit to the now empty room in the hamlet for their belongings, they returned to the safety of the ravine. Too many carts and too much foot traffic were on the road for them to risk being recognized, and discovering Locke in the area had made Shaman realize how lucky they’d been not to encounter anyone else who knew them. He had no way of knowing whether Franco and Locke had disclosed their location to other demons, so staying out of sight, even if that meant sleeping in a sphere, was the wisest choice.

They walked till dusk, then settled amongst the boulders for a meal. Demon had been quiet the whole way, even melancholy, but Shaman hoped he had a way to change that.

“I’ve been deliberating over which powers to bestow upon you,” he finally said when they’d finished eating. Since he was close enough to Demon to touch, he did so, tucking some of his hair behind his ear, then running his finger along the other’s jawline. The symbols there had partially faded when Franco took control of him and evidently assigning powers had not been one of his priorities. The few that remained bold were those inherent to a font demon.

Demon lowered his eyes, not leaning in to Shaman’s touch as he normally would have. “Whatever you wish.”

“You’re acting as my bodyguard and you know how to fight, so keep the power to conjure weapons.” Shaman watched that particular sigil light up on Demon’s cheek and remain solid. “I don’t think you need to be able to throw lightening bolts.” That character dissolved completely. “I don’t expect you to need magical rope either.” Another symbol vanished.

Shaman was rather enjoying this, and now even Demon showed a little interest. “Are you going to give me a name?”

“In time. You’ll keep the power to disappear and reappear at will. That is indispensable. However I don’t see that you need to change your appearance. That takes a lot of magical energy, and you may need it for other things.”

“Such as?”

Shaman met his gaze and held it. “I’m going to give you two new powers,” he said very seriously. “When I send you a message, you will be able to reply to me. Only for a few minutes and only when I address you first, but it will prevent us from being caught in this sort of trap again. I don’t want to let you out of my sight, but it will undoubtedly become necessary. I’ll never lose complete contact with you because of this charm.” He tapped the new amulet hanging around his neck, created to hold some of both Bob’s hair and Demon’s hair; he meant to be prepared if he ever had to re-animate his lover again. “But I don’t want it to come to that.”

Demon clearly liked the idea of two-way communication. He waited for another pictogram to appear on his chin, then asked, “And the second new power?”

“I can’t imagine how much Franco’s torture hurt you,” Shaman began, and watched the other’s expression immediately close down. “I would never do that to you, but I know I caused you more pain by insisting you talk about it. A master will always have the ability to injure you, either by _his_ action or by preventing _your_ action. I don’t want that hanging over us. I don’t want you to be afraid of me.” He had Demon’s attention now. Allowing all the warmth he felt towards his demon to come through in his voice, he said, “I’m giving you an option to avoid pain and fear. I’m giving you the power to say no.”

Demon swallowed hard. “I can’t say no to my master.”

“You can, starting now.” Shaman inscribed a new and arcane symbol on the other’s jawline. He doubted that anyone but the most educated demon would be able to interpret it. “I don’t know if the day will come when we can have sex, and I really don’t mind waiting, but I need to be sure that if and when it happens, it isn’t because you have no choice.”

His lover didn’t have to articulate his gratitude: he engulfed Shaman in a hard embrace and initiated the deepest kiss they’d shared since leaving the palace. It wasn’t sexual on either side, but it was long and immensely satisfying.

“You’ve made my life livable,” Demon whispered when they separated a few millimeters to breathe. “Thank you.”

“I considered taking away your pain by removing the memory of it,” Shaman revealed, “but I want you to trust me. If you found out I’d manipulated your mind once, you’d never be sure I wouldn’t do it again.” The other took several deep breaths, apparently overwhelmed with emotion. Shaman resumed their kiss.

When his body decided to join the action, he enshrouded them both in a sphere. This was for privacy but also for comfort, since it protected them from having to make love on the stony ground. His healing skin wasn’t quite ready for that.

“I was afraid I’d lost this,” Shaman said softly from the shelter of the other’s arms. Inside he marveled at how quickly he’d become used to the feel and form of this man. Having him there felt right.

“Don’t lose me again,” Demon requested.

“As long as I have the power to exist, I will have you,” Shaman promised him.

At that moment he didn’t care whether they found the third scroll, worked the spell on it, or even spent the rest of their lives searching; the mere venture of seeking it together was going to be worth the journey.  



End file.
